


Good Morning Is An Oxymoron

by bellamythology (onemanbellarmy)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, bc sleepy bellamy is the cutest thing ever, bellamy is not a morning person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:50:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6478153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemanbellarmy/pseuds/bellamythology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: "Person B trying to wake an obstinate Person A. After multiple fruitless efforts, they end up grabbing Person A’s face, getting up really close, and loudly singing “YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE. MY ONLY SUNSHINE…”</p><p>Bonus: …Person A then wakes up and promptly smothers Person B with a pillow"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Morning Is An Oxymoron

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt can be found [here](otpdisaster.tumblr.com/post/115100499740/person-b-trying-to-wake-an-obstinate-person-a). The title, for once, is NOT from a song. Aren't you proud of me? ;P

It was a morning like any other. The sun was pushing through the blinds, the birds were gossiping away, and Bellamy Blake was curled up under four layers of blankets with his head buried under a pillow. The alarm clock on the nightstand read 10:04 am. It was a lazy Saturday morning, just Bellamy’s favorite type.

Or so he thought. (Or would’ve, if he were conscious enough to actually think.)

The shower turned off and quiet humming became audible in the sudden silence. A few minutes later, Clarke emerged from the bathroom, toweling off her hair. Still asleep, Bellamy rolled in her direction, dislodging the pillow from its perch atop his head. She smiled fondly.

As was her habit, Clarke opened the blinds and let the sunshine flood into the room, where the rays cascaded across the floor and painted a golden stripe down the bed. (Bellamy made what could have been construed as a sound of protest, but he didn’t wake.) Clarke clicked on the blow-drier and glanced over at her boyfriend again. The low din made him stir, but his eyes remained closed.

Clarke made no effort to keep the noise down as she went about her morning routine — if anything, she purposely dropped things and slammed lids —  but the most reaction she managed to elicit from Bellamy was an incoherent mumble.

Half an hour later, Clarke was ready for the day — and Bellamy was still asleep.

Resigned, she walked over to the bed. “Bell.”

No answer. No movement. If it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest, she would’ve been concerned.

She drew back the blankets to shake his shoulder, gently at first, then rougher.

“Mm.” He rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his face.

She yanked at the blankets, but even in his sleep Bellamy had a tighter grip. They didn’t budge, and neither did he.

Clarke was undeterred. Swinging a leg over his to straddle what she guessed was his stomach — it was hard to tell under all those blankets — she reached out and took his face in her hands. He nuzzled into her touch, eyes still closed. Grinning mischievously as an idea struck her, Clarke leaned in as she lifted his head slightly off the bed so their faces were just inches apart. “YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE, MY ONLY SUNSHINE…”

He blinked a few times, nose scrunching up in that classic morning-groggy Bellamy expression. “Clarke,” he protested in a sleepy mumble.

“No, c’mon Bell, time to get up. YOU MAKE ME HAPPY, WHEN SKIES ARE GRAY…”

He twisted out of her grasp to huddle back into his burrow, grabbing at his pillow.

“ _Bell._ ” She was too far gone to stop now, really. “YOU’LL NEVER KNOW, DEAR, HOW MUCH I — _mph._ ”

Eyes finally opened, Bellamy let the pillow fall as he squinted up at his girlfriend, framed by blinding sunlight that brightened her blue eyes and made a halo of her blonde hair. One side of his mouth quirked up in a playful smirk, offset by the clear affection in his eyes. “Good morning to you too, princess.”

Clarke’s mouth fell open in mock outrage. “Bellamy Blake, did you just —” She snatched at the abandoned pillow and whacked at him with it. “You’re actually twelve years old!”

“You say as you start a pillow fight!” he countered, groping blindly for her pillow to retaliate.

They’d each gotten a few good smacks in when Bellamy tossed his aside to grab onto hers, preventing her from continuing. “Clarke — babe —” he gasped through his laughter. (Usually it was a rich, deep sound, his voice, but Clarke liked it best like this — a little higher because he couldn’t quite catch his breath.)

“Bell,” she said, fond, and let go of the pillow in favor of wrapping her arms around his neck to she could lean forward and press a quick kiss to his nose. “You getting up yet?”

He sighed, rumpling his already sleep-mussed curls. “Fine, fine. Just for you.”

* * *

As they walked out the door an hour later, he leaned in to breathe in her ear, “ _Please don’t take my sunshine away._ ”

Clarke beamed.

**Author's Note:**

> Cry with me on [Tumblr](http://befreckledrebelking.tumblr.com)!


End file.
